


By Your Side

by OrangeBlossoms



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Ylisseweek2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-07 08:43:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13431096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrangeBlossoms/pseuds/OrangeBlossoms
Summary: Olivia has doubts over her ability to transition to a different life after the wars.





	By Your Side

**Author's Note:**

> I hadn’t finished anything with these two since September, so here’s this. For Ylisseweek’s “Free Day” (it was supposed to be for “Home”, but I’m too slow and unorganized… this week especially!). Title is a reference to one of Maribelle’s pair up quotes.

“Deep breaths, dear. You appear faint.”

Maribelle is bent over behind her adjusting the way the fabric falls as they finish preparing for the evening. In a rush of pale green and gold, she had cleared the attendants from room and they are alone for a stolen moment. She’s close enough that the hems of their dresses touch with each twist of appraisal in front of the floor length mirror, its smooth surface a luxury in and of itself. Maribelle’s hair is done up in a way that exposes the curve of her neck and Olivia’s gaze flicked to the floor at the sight of her when she first entered the room only to be brought back by Maribelle’s own murmurs of appreciation. 

Despite all the times she has groomed herself for a performance, she has never experienced the kind of careful attention to her person that she had endured that evening with strangers pressing too close yet professionally distant in a way that almost made it bearable. Even what is allowed to remain familiar is transformed; her braids are laced with gold ribbon and the dancer’s rings replaced with bejeweled bangles that rattle when she moves her arms. Maribelle straightens, smoothing her hands over the front of her own layered gown. Olivia can only see hints of her movement, frozen in place as she is, waiting for a directive that might break her free from increasingly troubled thoughts. 

Olivia is no refined lady, with a laugh that sometimes mimics the West-Khan’s and table manners that had to be painstakingly unlearned when they were in Ylisstol, Maribelle taking meals in their guest quarters with her for instruction and practice. It is a suggestion that was made before they were even friends in harsher words that have long since softened to dulcet-toned encouragement. Like the stories and songs passed down over the generations of her troupe, she listens and repeats what is taught until it begins to stick. Secretly, she hopes that at some point the lessons will become second nature and the motions will be so ingrained that not even persistent worries could cause her to falter. 

Tonight she is an esteemed guest of House Themis and the estate is host to an assortment of relations, many of them nearly as important as the Duke himself. She has attended two major events in Ylisstol and any number of dinners and banquets in Ferox. Neither location left her feeling quite as vulnerable as this. Khan Basilio isn’t present to level the playing field when it comes to expectations, his manners as rough as his speech. Nor will any of the rowdier members of their army be there, the kind of people she can talk to without stammering or experiencing a desperate need to hide in some dark corner and wait out the socializing. Maribelle assured her Ricken would be in attendance as their families are old friends, but besides the two of them, most of the other faces will be terrifying unknowns. 

As much as Olivia is drawn to her hidden milder side, Maribelle is also fiercely proud in a way that is too dazzling to mimic. Her own talents are not meant to shine in proper company, at least not in any way that could elevate her beyond a momentary diversion. The sudden vague sense of embarrassment she has about the one thing she is able to nurture some self-worth over cuts shear down to the bone. 

There is a confining warmth in her cheeks and her chest that reminds her of Maribelle’s query as her partner’s reflection clasps her hands together and her brows knit in a way that would normally have Maribelle chastising herself over the threat of wrinkles.

“I  _ feel _ like I could pass out!” Olivia admits with a gasp, clutching at her dress for some kind of hold on the present. 

The fabric is dyed blue like the seal of Ylisse. A part of her distantly wonders if it means something as everything seems to hold hidden intentions she can’t yet decipher whether it’s how she holds a drink or the exact angle of a person’s bowed head in a curtsy. 

“ _ Oh _ no, no, no,” Maribelle says in a gentle timbre reserved for a select few, resting her hands on Olivia’s shoulders. Her neck cranes to the side to look up at her, a cascade of blonde curls tumbling forward as she leans over. “We’ve practiced any number of times. You’re lovely and I won’t have it if anyone even  _ breathes _ in a way that suggests otherwise, family or no.”

The reassurances are welcome, if not enough and her shoulders draw up of their own volition only for warm hands to rub some of the tension from them.

“This was…” she says, quivering even under the tender ministrations of her partner, “I-I mean… I don’t… I don’t think I can do this!” 

“I’m by your side, darling,” Maribelle says in a low voice before pulling back slightly, the woman in the mirror smiling again. “What are a few ‘stuffy nobles’ when you have fought a dragon dead set on bringing about the end of the world?”

“That’s not the same, Maribelle! I don’t think I can even  _ breathe _ right let alone  _ talk _ !” 

“Oh,  _ darling _ ,” she says, stepping around to face her and Olivia’s fears are replaced by a brief moment of admiration, Maribelle oblivious to the shift as she has lept into lecture mode.“You are overwhelming yourself again. I won’t leave you for a second. If anyone asks you something you don’t feel comfortable discussing, simply hold tight to my hand and I shall rectify the situation posthaste.”

Olivia closes her eyes and releases a shaky breath, having lost track of how long she has held it and instead takes Maribelle’s advice. As she breathes in deeply, she attempts to clear thoughts of the impending evening out of her mind only to be assaulted by worries over her apparel. The dress is too tight and she is self-conscious despite the fact that it covers a good deal more than her dancer’s garb. She isn’t meant for something so grand that she needs two people to help her into it and lace her up. 

Maribelle’s arms encircle her back as she holds her flush against her chest, a more awkward affair than normal in their formal attire and Olivia misses Maribelle’s more practical (and familiar) riding clothes. Even though Olivia is over half a head taller, the gesture is comforting as she breathes in the perfumed scent of her hair. 

“Don’t forget, we’ve already gone over the guest list together and while  _ I  _ cannot retire early as it’s something of a welcome home for me, I will aid in your retreat should you need me to do so. I only request you mingle a bit after dinner.”

Olivia steps back to get a better look at her face. For someone so guarded, Maribelle wears frustration plainly and Olivia is relieved to see only concern accompanied by a hopeful curve of her lips. The knots in her stomach are still there, but she can bring herself to offer a tentative smile in return. 

There are still underlying distractions. Will there be a time when patience wears too thin? Does she have the strength to take these leaps? Some questions aren’t even fully formed, but she worries nonetheless. Before she can become entangled in additional thorny uncertainties, a voice breaks through the thicket.

“You know,” Maribelle begins, tone uncharacteristically muted as she gently runs a gloved hand through a section of Olivia’s hair, tucking a stray lock behind her ear before dropping her arm to her side, “in the spring, perhaps I can accompany you to Ferox. We never did have the opportunity to witness a proper Feroxi gathering what with all that was happening. Then, I shall be  _ your _ guest.”

“I would like that,” she says and it’s enough to breathe life into the space between them as Maribelle squeezes her hands.

“Father won’t be thrilled with the idea, but you leave that for me to worry about. It’s settled then. You have my word,” she says and bows her head to press a kiss to the back of Olivia’s hand. 

The sudden switch to formality is charming and Olivia folds Maribelle up in her arms as if to make up for her half-hearted earlier responses. The abruptness elicits a minor protest of surprise before Maribelle relaxes into the hold. Despite her nerves, Olivia laughs even as the gratitude is accompanied by a sharp pang of homesickness though for which home, she isn’t certain. 

It seems a lifetime ago when she traveled with the troupe, sometimes falling asleep under the stars and around campfires to tales told time and again. Nearly two years have passed since her last stretch in Ferox, the intervening time spent on a different kind of journey through Ylisse, Valm and all the lands between. At some point along the way they made their own home in a shared tent with tea and dusty books stacked high on trunks. There were evenings spent on moonlit dance practice in tucked away meadows just out of the sight of camp, Maribelle sometimes closing her books to join her. All things come to an end and she doesn’t miss the kinds of memories that still wake her in the dead of night, Maribelle turning over to hold her again, warm from the bundled covers. Some nights their positions are reversed, Maribelle often unable to sleep the night through. 

Olivia doesn’t know if the manor in Themis will ever feel like home with its long corridors and foreign rules that are different from even those of the army’s camp where the Exalt presided. Ferox had its own worries, but she can’t help but think of it fondly with its rough and tumble populace in the face of new unknowns even if she doesn’t miss the cold. The sudden thought of Maribelle as a captive audience to evenings of Khan Basilio’s (often impolite) stories does tease another smile out of her.

“I’m afraid meals with either of the Khans might be kind of a shock!”

Maribelle squirms in her embrace to free her face for a rejoinder. She is not entirely unaware of the kind of company that would await her in Ferox having received a firm clap on her shoulder by Khan Basilio as he gave them his blessings before he returned to his duties up north. 

“Well, I suppose you’ll have to take pity on me and my delicate Ylissean sensibilities,” she says with a dramatic sigh before her countenance sobers. She reaches up a hand to cup her cheek and Olivia leans into the touch. “Are you feeling at all improved?”

“You’ll really stay with me?” she asks in a small voice. Olivia knows it’s another question that doesn’t need asking. 

“Since when do I go back on my word?” she says with a hint of irritation. Olivia thinks she should have predicted such a response, but doesn’t dwell on it as Maribelle’s expression softens. “Of  _ course _ I’ll stay with you.”

She leans up and seals the promise with a kiss, Olivia responding in kind. She rests her forehead against Maribelle’s, breathes in and steels herself as she steps back. 

“Ok,” Olivia says with a nod as she attempts to project a confidence even half as splendid as Maribelle’s. 

“Well, we’d best be going then,” Maribelle says before pulling back and offering her arm. Her expression is good natured even if her stance is rigid. Olivia wonders if Maribelle has some of her own concerns and decides to tuck the thought away for a later conversation. “Shall we?”

She does a practice curtsy in her dress and is pleased at Maribelle’s approving nod. As she leans close to link their arms, Olivia is able to believe it will all work out even if some tasks seem impossible at first. 


End file.
